The First I love you
by BestINeverHad
Summary: A different turn of events, where Brendan confesses his love under different circumstances. Written because I felt like it. Rated T for brief allusions of child abuse. One shot.


**The First "I love you". **

**A different turn of events, where Brendan confesses his love under different circumstances. Written because I felt like it. Brief allusions of child abuse. ****One shot.**

You're looking at him now, really looking. You can see it in his eyes, how much he needs you to say those three words. You're struggling, having an internal battle with yourself. Everything you say right here, right now, is the difference between him staying with you and him leaving you; the thought of him leaving you is unbearable, but the thought of saying those words is terrifying. You open your mouth to speak, you try to form those words, but they're not coming. It's silent now, silent except for the sounds of heavy, laboured breathing. You're not sure if it's you or him, it could be both of you, but you find yourself unable to care. There's a war inside of you, either side raging, ready for blood. Say it and you get to keep the love of your life – there's something you've never even admitted to yourself before – by your side, but have to face the consequences… what they are, you're not sure, but you don't like them. Or, you can take the coward's option and stay silent, stay silent or tell him you can't anyway, and then you'll lose him forever.

Your mind is racing, billions upon billions of thoughts and doubts and memories and even insecurities rushing throughout your mind, leering at you and hissing. You think about your dad; if he could read your mind right now you know there'd be no escaping what he'd do next, because you're still that petrified eight year old, really, on the inside. He's not here, not physically, but he's always with you, a constant shadow over your life, over every decision you make. If it weren't for him, this situation would be a hell of a lot easier and you know it. You think about Cheryl; what if she disowns you? What if she won't speak to you again? What if your dad poisoned her mind as well, but you didn't realise it? You think about the villagers and your reputation; what would they think? Hell, you'll never care what they think. However, people assuming you're a skipping, pansy little faggot who won't harm a fly anymore because everyone knows his secret, is a blood curdling thought and it makes you want to go out and slaughter the village right now, before they can come to such conclusions, before they can test your patience.

But this boy, this boy in front of you, he means everything to you. The world in which you both live in doesn't matter, because he's _your_ world. He makes the sun shine for you and he makes the nights more bearable, he makes them safe and warm, when his body curls up against yours and his fingers dance over your torso, all his actions speaking the words he's too scared to say – scared because of you. The thought makes you angry, makes your self-loathing multiply itself. How could you ever have hurt this boy? This boy with the bright blue eyes that light up the drabbest of days. This boy with the warm, golden skin that he's allowed you the pleasure of exploring, inch by inch, every mole, scar and scattering of hair. This boy with the donkey laugh that somehow grew on you, and now you can't help but smile when you hear it. This boy with the chavvy Mancunian accent that on anyone else you'd hate, but on him it's endearing. How could you have ever laid a wrong hand on this boy? He's giving you those eyes; he's begging you, tempting you, desperate. You're so wound up in him that you can't see a way out, can't see a way to untangle yourself. It's a periling web that you're trapped in, anything this boy says or does can make or break you. What's even more petrifying is the fact that maybe, just maybe, you don't want to find a way out. Who are you kidding? Of course you don't! This boy, here in front of you, with the pleading, wet eyes that's wearing his aching heart on his sleeve for you, may well have become your reason for breathing.

But it's too much for you, all of it is just too much. You can't expect anyone to understand, not even him. He always brings a warmth to your heart, brings a glow to your eyes, but with it comes an unrelenting fear, a spine tingling, hair pricking, gut sickening feeling that makes you lash out – and you have done, many times. Once was too many. Twice was horrific and absolutely unforgiveable. The fact that you've done it at least five times is sickening; more than that, but you can't find the words to describe it. You're like your dad in so many ways that it frightens you, makes you hate yourself so much. There can't be another soul in the world that hates themselves as much as you do, it's simply impossible.

When he came into your bedroom that night, so many years ago, and broke you, your life was ruined. Even when it stopped physically, it carried on mentally. And because you couldn't tell anyone, for the shame and the humiliation and the agonising torture of reliving the memories, not to mention your love for your sister and not wanting to ruin her childhood, you were left alone to fix yourself. Thousands of children and teens go through what you went through, but they have friends to confide in and they still manage to grow up and live a good life, doing good things to make up for all the bad in their youth. But not you. You were left to fix yourself and you did it wrong. Your dad always told you that you were useless and from this you figure he was right, because you couldn't even fix yourself and surely, fixing yourself should be easy because no one should know you better than you know yourself, right? But sometimes, you think that maybe you don't know yourself at all.

You fixed yourself in a broken way. You ended up living a bitter life of violence, crime and revenge sought on the wrong people, people who didn't deserve it. However, some of them you simply cannot say were undeserving of the fate you delivered upon them. And out of all those lives you ruined, all the people you hurt, there's only one you regret hurting, only one you constantly think about and drive yourself to the edge of sanity, at tipping point due to the gnawing guilt and shame – though you fear you may have lost your sanity a long time ago. You're not normal, you know that. You know that you're not mad, but you're certainly not normal. You're a stick of TNT lit at both ends, able to describe the way the sky bends and curls in the moments when it's about to fall – just like you. You've been standing on a thin wire your whole life, always falling in different directions but never hitting the ground because you're unstable and you're confused and each time you're about to land, something else happens that changes your mind. You'll never be able to figure out what would've happened if you'd have landed in any of those places that you fell, whether it was good that you didn't curse the soil by your presence or whether it was bad.

So many times you've tried to kiss your wounds in hope that they'd heal but you've never had the self-respect to do so, to go through with it, never believed you're worthy of being fixed. How could you be? You're a monster. All you've ever wanted is a chance to be a normal man and if you could change how your childhood, not that you could call it that, unfolded then you would. Because you used to take cuts and bruises to show and tell but you never told a soul, because how could you have stood your ground if everyone else around you wanted to bury you beneath it? You're one part hatred, two parts tragedy. No one wants to reach out to the unreachable because what's the point? You can't reach them.

Except this boy in front of you, he wants to reach out to you, and he has, the only person to ever achieve it and not even your sister could. He managed to weave his way into your life, into your heart and carve himself a place, taking a little chunk of it with him to stand as an ornament, a trophy, proof of his success. He's made you reachable; but only to him. This boy whose only ever asked for you to show him that you love him, for you to tell him so. Because you both know that you do, despite years of being convinced that you never could, that you never would. And years of being convinced that you're undeserving of having someone love you back, of having someone love you so wholeheartedly and it's something that you still believe yet here you are confronted with the boy who would do anything for you, as you would do for him. Three tiny, stupid, easy little words but they mean so much more than what they seem, are so much more significant than anything you'll have ever said in your life. Three tiny, stupid, easy words that for some reason you've found are the most difficult for you to say. Why is it easier to tell the boy you love with all your heart that he disgusts you? Why is it easier to lie to him?

Maybe this could change everything, maybe it could make things better, make it could be okay. You don't know. But you're on the edge, except this time, it's a different edge. You're on a different edge of a different cliff that looms over different waters, where if you fell there'd be no way of telling how everything would turn out until you've landed – just like all those other times, where you've fell off the tightrope and never been able to tell what would happen. Everything is the same but a little bit different. There's something about being unknowing, of being left in the dark that makes your skin crawl and enrages you; maybe it's the memories of being left in the dark of your bedroom, shaking and quivering as the freezing night seeped in through the curtains and chilled you to the bone, mixing with the pain of the silent tears that you cried every night since the first. Maybe it's those memories that make you hate it so much.

But this time, however, there's a spark lit inside of you. It makes you want to jump, not fall. It makes you want to test the waters the churn below. Because whatever's in that water is a mystery and the slight chance of things getting better, because you jumped, overpowers the tremors that cause fear to surge throughout your body, to course hot under your veins and make your skin feverish. You're overwhelmed with a million different emotions, it's been a long time since you've felt so much in one go, and it makes you forget about all the other stuff. None of that other stuff even matters compared to this boy in front of you. When you're handed a possible life line, you're supposed to jump at the chance, aren't you? So you do. You jump. You fall hard and fast and free and for now, it's just this moment that matters. The rest can wait until tomorrow. You're not in control of your body; your heart is the one controlling it. Your hand rests gently against his cheek, your clammy palm greeted by the soft, flush skin, warm and sticky with old tears.

"I love ye." Your voice sounds foreign to your ears, but you know it's you that's said it. Even if you weren't sure, the look of shock, soon replaced by a massive, shining grin and a look of relief and adoration, is enough to confirm that yes, the words did in fact just come from your mouth. Your mouth which is now caught by his, as your lips and tongues move together in a synchronised rhythm of passion, love and desire. You're both perfect for each other, at the same time as being poisonous to each other. Both of you are broken strings, each with your own demons, on the neck of the same guitar; completely out of tune with the rest of the world but finely tuned to each other. And the world hasn't come crashing down; you just admitted that you love him, that you love a man, but not just any man, him. And the world hasn't come crashing down. So it must be okay. It must be fine. And all that matters right here, right now, is this moment. Everything else can be saved for tomorrow.


End file.
